


seems that all we ever wanted was a marking

by waferkya



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waferkya/pseuds/waferkya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Thank you,” he says, over the phone.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	seems that all we ever wanted was a marking

_If only he knew how hard it was for me to speak_

“Thank you,” he says, over the phone. His voice is the softest whisper because that’s how he knows Stevie likes it, not because he’s afraid someone might hear him. Secrets are not something that makes sense anymore.

Stevie grunts at the telly and squeezes a buttery popcorn inbetween his thumb and finger.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly. It’s not that he doesn’t know already, but he wants to hear it. He deserves this much, he thinks.

Xabi’s laughter is small and polite and still too fucking familiar. “You voted for me,” he says. “Thank you, Steven, you did not have to.”

“Oh, _that_ ,” Stevie says, and Xabi is laughing again because there’s a grin splitting Stevie’s face from ear to ear right now, a grin which Stevie really can’t bite back, and Xabi must’ve heard it in his voice. “Yeah, you deserved that, lad. Y’know, everyone loves a striker so us midfielders have to stick together.”

“Indeed,” Xabi says, delighted at Stevie’s nonsense like he always is. After a beat he says, as some sort of an afterthought, “You know, I would have done the same. If I was captain.”

Stevie laughs to keep himself from choking on all the stuttering that’s going on inside his chest, but it doesn’t have a bit of humour to it.

“You can’t vote for yourself, Xabs,” he says, the big oaf that he is, and twice as clumsy. Xabi stays very quiet for a moment, and Stevie hates himself for it.

“That’s not what I wanted to say,” Xabi finally whispers, his voice a little weak, but it grows firmer when he adds, “You know what I mean, Steven.”

Stevie’s first instinct is to say, _I really don’t know what you mean, Xabs._ But that, he reckons, is not exactly _him_. Stevie is stubborn and scared and a lot of things he sometimes wishes he wasn’t; he’s a liar, too: he puts on masks and armours like everyone else, because that’s the one and only way he can stay alive and keep safe a tiny bit of sanity every day. He buries his weakness and what do you know, sometimes he even forgets about it. Sometimes he has to look at his Wikipedia page to remind himself he’s never won a League, sometimes he’s even absolutely certain he doesn’t mind.

But the thing is, he’s not like that with Xabi anymore. Xabi, who’s smart and unafraid and oh so confident he shrugs critics away and truly, honestly doesn’t care; Xabi saw right through him the first time they met, and he was just too polite to say anything.

Stevie had to catch up on his own, and eventually he did, and after Istanbul it wasn’t just secrets, but lies as well never held much meaning anymore.

Xabi doesn’t try to fix him. He never says, _but Steven, you’re good, you’re so good, why do you doubt yourself?_ He just says, _Steven, you’re good; in fact, I can’t think of anyone better_ , which is slightly different; different enough that sometimes Stevie believes him.

Stevie hates the way his skin turns pink all the way from his neck to his belly. Xabi will kiss the hard line of his sternum and say, _it’s because your blood is too red_ , which is slightly ridiculous; ridiculous enough that sometimes Stevie believes him.

So, when Xabi tells him, _you know what I mean, Steven_ , Stevie is still terrified and miserable and he’s never won a League, but he won the ol’ Big Ears that one time, and he keeps winning Xabi’s brave, honest smile, so he tears off all pretenses and under his breath he says, “Yeah, Xabs, I know.”  



End file.
